The Adventures of the Boy Who Lived, Somehow
by The Death Eater Muckrakers
Summary: Or, the Difference Between Fantasy and Reality: What Really Would Have Happened Had Harry Not Been A Gary Stu.
1. Prologue: With our Host, Antonin Dolohov

TITLE: The Amazing Adventures of the Boy Who Lived (Somehow)  
  
AUTHORS: Paige Prewett and Jade Hunter  
  
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters and properties of Harry Potter belong to us. We're poor. Don't sue. This fan fic, in its very nature, borrows heavily from the actual words of J.K. Rowling. We do not claim to have written it all, nor do we claim a copyright to the parts that she wrote. It's all meant in good fun...for the most part. If you are a stupid person, then we're not sorry.

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_Greetings, readers.  
  
Antonin Dolohov here. Bellatrix Lestrange and I have decided that enough is enough, and have decided to give everyone the truth about what would have really happened to the scrawny little boy named Harry Potter in those books you all seem to adore so much.  
  
To put it bluntly, he'd be dead. Very dead. So dead that just normal dead would look alive.  
  
I mean, really, think about it. I pounded the crap out of Alastor Moody, the greatest Auror who ever lived. And yet Harry's able to open up a can of whoop-ass on me with bloody "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS?" Hello, people!  
  
I don't care how good a wizard you are, if all you know are school spells, you aren't going to beat me. You're just not. Learn to deal.  
  
And then there's Bella, who's probably the Dark Lord's second-in-command. Destroyed the Longbottoms. Strong enough that she never wavered in her faith or loyalty to the Dark Lord through more than thirteen years in Azkaban prison.  
  
And yet, somehow, she can't work a simple summoning charm against a 15 year old boy. I think they'd better be training Aurors better or something, don't you? Of course, if the Longbottoms were half as incompetent as their son...  
  
It's ridiculous. It's absurd. It's a vast, good-guy conspiracy.  
  
And we're going to set it straight._

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TBC...


	2. Chapter 1: HalloWHAT?

TITLE: The Amazing Adventures of the Boy Who Lived (Somehow)  
  
AUTHORS: Paige Prewett and Jade Hunter

A.N.: The chapters of this fic are not really related to each other in any way. They are in the order of the events as they happen in the book, but no connecting plot joins them together.  
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CHAPTER ONE - HalloWHAT??  
  
**Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll -- in the dungeons - thought you ought to know."  
  
He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.  
  
There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.  
  
"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"  
  
Percy was in his element.  
  
"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect."  
  
"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.  
  
"Don't ask me. I'm sure there's no danger, because even though trolls are like twelve foot tall rhinos with tempers, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Peeves must have let one in as a joke, even though he's never been known for endangering the lives of the students like this before, and, besides, Jokes are supposed to be funny!"  
  
They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.  
  
"I've just thought - Hermione!"  
  
"What about her?"  
  
"She doesn't know about the troll."  
  
"Sucks to be her."  
  
"Well, shouldn't we go risk our lives and break school rules in order to tell her, instead of telling a professor, who is infinitely more qualified to do something about it?"  
  
"Hmm," Ron frowned, thinking hard on the matter. "Well, there is a good chance we might get our heads bashed in by the gigantic troll, but you DO have a good point, mate. I mean, who else knows about Hermione? We COULD go tell Percy, instead of avoiding him, but he's not a main character; he shouldn't hae anything to do with this."  
  
"Exactly, Ron. This book's about me, and to a lesser degree, you and Hermione. We have to do everything ourselves, or it detracts from my glory. Now come on."  
  
Ron bit his lip.  
  
"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."  
  
Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girl's bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.  
  
"It must be Percy, even though the last time we saw him, he was leading the other Gryffindor's to our dormitory, like he was suposed to, and there's no way he could have gotten the jump on us!" Ron hissed, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin.  
  
Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy (who was, indeed, being a good prefect), but Snape. He crossed the corridor and dissapeared from view (thankfully).  
  
"What's he doing?" Harry asked Ron, assuming that his friend would know, even if they had been together the whole time, because Ron was Harry's wizarding world lexicon, and conveniently knew everything Harry needed at crucial moments.  
  
Well, until that Hermione girl came in the picture, but that's not in the plot for another few paragraphs.  
  
"Search me."  
  
"Why?" asked Harry, confused.  
  
Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.  
  
"He's heading for the third floor," Harry said, certain that if Snape was doing anything, it had to be bad, even though there was no way he could tell anything from the sound of his footsteps.  
  
Ron held up his hand.  
  
"Can you smell something?"  
  
"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but now that you've brought it up..." Harry trailed off as something fouler than Ron's chronic BO problem made itself known.  
  
And then they heard it - a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed to the end of a passage to the left, just in case Harry's vision problems somehow obstructed the fact that something huge was heading towards them. Harry felt his trousers become warm and damp as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.  
  
After all, he was only eleven years old.  
  
It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, it's skin was a dull, granite grey, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.  
  
The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched into the room.  
  
"Oh, look," said Harry. The key's in the lock. Filch must have known that we would need to lock a troll in the bathroom, so he left it there just for us."  
  
"Right, we can lock it in," Ron nodded. That was a good idea. There was a long moment when no one moved, and finally, Ron jabbed Harry. "You do it."  
  
"Me? But you're far more expendable. Your name isn't on the cover of every book."  
  
"It was your idea, and you're the one who wanted to come down here," Ron hissed back, jabbing Harry forward. "Besides, I've got older brothers. If anything happens to me, you're dead anyway, so you might as well go for it."  
  
Cursing the fact that he was an orphan Gary Stu with no one who really cared if he lived or died to give him a comeback to Ron's statement, Harry grabbed Ron by the shirt as they edged towards the open door.  
  
"Follow me at least, so that if it kills me, you can hit it over the head or something."  
  
"And die? What're you, insane? If it kills you, I am outta here," Ron muttered under his breath.  
  
With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the key, slam the door, and lock it.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Flushed with their victory, they started to run back up the passage, but as they reached the corner they heard somethign that made their hearts stop - a high, petrified scream - and it was coming from the chamber they'd just chained up.  
  
"Oh, no," said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.  
  
"It's the girl's bathroom!" Harry gasped.  
  
"Hermione!" they said together.

Stopping suddenly, Harry had an epiphany.  
  
"Ron, do you realize the mathematical improbability that of all the doors in this castle, we would lock the troll into the very room Hermione is in? It's amazing. We should play the lottery."  
  
Ron stopped in his tracks to give Harry a baffled look.  
  
"Harry, first of all, I have no idea what the lot-ter-ree is. Secondly, I don't know anything about mathematical improbability either, as the wizarding world doesn't seem to have primary school. They also don't teach math, english, or any of that other stuff muggle students learn. It's a wonder I can string together sentences at all, much less write essays for class. You know, trial and error can only take you so far, but for some reason, it works with us."  
  
It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have? Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door and turned the key, fumbling in their panic. Harry pulled the door open and they ran inside.  
  
Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.  
  
"Confuse it!" Harry said desperately to Ron, and, seizing a tap, he threw it as hard as he could against the wall, which wasn't all that hard, seeing how he was a scrawny eleven-year-old.  
  
The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.  
  
Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: he took a running jump and attempted to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind.  
  
However, the laws of physics made his attempt a physical impossibility, as he was less than five feet tall, and the troll more than twelve, with a tiny head. Harry's arms caught somewhere around the troll's torso, tickling it as he slid down it's back, causing it to fall to a sitting postion.  
  
Hermione, already pale and wide-eyed from fright, worked her mouth open and closed in a silent scream. Ron, from his position facing the troll, felt his stomach roll around, and gagged.  
  
The troll, feeling strange lumps beneath him, scratched his head in confusion, and attempted to get up a few times. Unfortunately, he slipped on the rubble that littered the floor, and poor Harry was squashed even further, meeting his unfortunate death at a troll's bum.  
  
A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the two of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room and easily immobilized the troll with a spell that they didn't know yet, as they were only first years and still just learning to hold their wands properly.

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FIN.


End file.
